


one touch closer

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basket
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not a pack mule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one touch closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aesterismo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesterismo/gifts).



> Can technically be set post-EP practice game/hanging out, or just whenever. Happy birthday, Kei!

She asked him after the court had been cleared and the seniors long gone. Her face was turned away from the light, but her eyes were bright. She smiled down at him, soft, and secret, and he had to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Why don't you ask Aomine," he said.

"Because," she answered, "I can't bully him to carry my stuff."

"I'm not a pack mule," he said. He leaned his weight against the bench, and groaned even as she touched a water bottle, still cold from the cooler and dripping water everywhere, to his forehead.

"No," she said, patiently, "but you _are_ a gentleman, aren't you?"

Some other time, with his feet less like lead and his limbs more cooperative, he would mostly marvel at this, at how she'd picked at his weaknesses. For now, he could only sigh and push himself off the ground.

"Okay," he said, and picked up his bag.

 

 

They stopped by a sports store by the train station for supplies. She dumped athletic tape and bandages into his arms, and he'd had to cup them over his chest and hold them close lest they fall. He glared at her form, hunched over a display of ballers. He didn't wonder who they were for.

"Don't you think this is too much," he asked, trailing tape in his wake.

"I manage a team full of boys, Kagamin," she said, exasperated. She plucked a wristband out of a pile and tested its weight. "You can never have enough."

"I need a basket for this," he grumbled.

"Go take those to the counter," she said, waving him away. "I'll be there in a minute."

He slinked off to look at sneakers by the front of the store as she paid and flirted with the cashier for a discount. He thought he'd have more time to himself, except she'd sidled up beside him moments later, and they both considered the clunky bulk of a sneaker, gleaming black and red at turns. It would look mismatched, with his uniform. He'd have to switch schools before it caught on.

"Don't you think those shoes look nice," she said, with a strange quality to her voice. Like she was thinking of something far off.

He plucked it off the shelf and held it by the shoestrings. "Why don't you try them out?"

She tossed her head back, her laughter clear. "I doubt they have a pair in my size." She took it from him, and whistled at the tag. "It would make a nice birthday present, though."

"Doesn't he have enough shoes," he said, loftily.

"If there's one thing I know about Dai-chan," she confided, "it's that he's like a girl when it comes to shoes. He's absolutely crazy about them."

She placed it back on the shelf, more carefully than he had retrieved it. Like she held something precious. Like it meant something more. "Now," she said, clapping her hands together, "on to the next stop."

 

 

He helped her pick out lemons, next, and a sizeable jar of honey for refreshments. Twice he'd impressed on her how to do it correctly; thrice he'd had to jot it down before she took the sticky note and pouted at it.

They left the grocery with bags full of fruit and ice cream in hand. He ate his with less of his usual voracity, more self-conscious now than ever of the way she'd wrapped a napkin around her stick, and they ate in silence, mostly, trading stories only in fragments. He supposed it was because she was preoccupied and he was... himself. It was not an entirely comforting thought.

She slowed her steps, when they walked past the clothing lines, the dresses on display, the pinned up notices of 70 PERCENT OFF. He looked at his ice cream, almost finished. He cursed himself for his speed.

"Can we go inside for a second," she said, stroking her chin. He closed his eyes and thought of her wallet, alas.

"Wouldn't you rather do this with someone else," he hedged. "Someone less conspicuous and busy because of _unfinished homework_ , by the way."

"Not really," she said. "I only go out with Dai-chan and my mom. And anyway, I could help you with that!"

She sounded so sure of herself, and he didn't doubt it. If anyone could push Aomine to pass his studies, it must have been her, more than anyone else. What a terrifying thought; what an awe-inspiring prospect.

"You should do this with your other friends," he said. He bit down the last of his popsicle, and threw it in the trash.

She blinked at him, dolefully. "I _am_ doing this with my friend," she said.

"No," he said, rolling his eyes, "I meant, with girl friends."

She smoothed down her skirt; she looked at her nails. When she opened her mouth again, she spoke in such offhanded tones he'd almost felt sad. "I don't have a lot of girl friends."

He thought of her, with Aomine as her entire world from childhood, and then basketball if only because Aomine loved it too. Then he thought of Tatsuya, and how, in some ways, basketball was what kept them together the most even as it kept them apart. He knew this fear, and he knew the cruelty of friendship, of childhood frustrations. He'd lived with it, too, except he'd tried for single-minded determination and coped. He knew.

His mouth, he tried to keep in a small, tight line, but he felt too loose-limbed, too light-hearted for it to linger. So he let himself go lax.

"If it's any consolation," he said, "I don't either."

She smiled.

 

 

He waited for her by the nearest empty column, too conscious of his own survival to even push himself to approach the crowd of women around the accessory baskets. He remembered doing something like this with Tatsuya for Alex's birthday, except they'd both been younger and smaller then, and everyone else had been so big, so dominating. Taller now, and he'd still felt trapped.

She emerged from the throng, triumphant and fearless. On the top of her head, she'd set something that resembled a caterpillar more than a hairband, but he pursed his lips and thought better of telling her as much. His face, though -- it must have shown, because the skin around her eyes crinkled with something fond.

"Oh," she said, "oh, you don't like it."

"I never said that," he said, gruffly. He folded his arms over his chest and looked at the ceiling, its white-washed walls, the fluorescent light.

"But you're thinking it," she teased. "Otherwise you'd be looking at my face instead."

"Well," he conceded, finally, tilting his head to the side, "it's better than the animal print ones, anyway."

"It looks tacky," she said, laughing even as she covered her mouth with her fist. Her lips curled, but not in displeasure. "But it suits me, don't you think so, Kagamin?"

His hand stretched out to touch her head; her hair felt rough, a startling contrast to the soft tufts of fuzz atop her head. He stroked her hairband with gentle, cautious fingers. She tipped her head forward, bowed, and wondering.

"You should keep that on," he told her, as he pulled away. Distant, but not enough.

She did.

 

 

Three blocks later and the sky began to darken; it drizzled before they'd ducked for cover and they made for the nearest convenience store. Her hand was tight around his arm, his bag knocking against her hip as they ran. She'd had to squeeze the water out of her cardigan, and he mourned the state of his shoes, the tracks of mud they'd left all over the mat, and the tiles. Her socks splattered with dirt and water. The line of his pants. Her calf. He averted his stare.

She passed him a flimsy raincoat from the rack, gleaming yellow in the weak light of the store. There was a cutesy character adorning the hem, rows of rabbit faces and carrots, but she looked so apologetic and intrigued that he gave in. He hesitated, before finally taking it.

"I should pay you back," he said. He reached for his wallet, but she stopped him as easily as she'd pulled him with her from the start.

"Don't worry about it," she said. She fluttered her fingers at him, and he longed to catch it, if only to still the dizziness in his head, the sudden rush. "Just think of it as a present of gratitude."

"For stealing data," he said, "in the earlier practice match."

"For permission to observe," she corrected.

"Also for turning me into your errand boy."

She knocked her knuckles to his arm, only the lightest of nudging. "It's a date," she told him.

"It is?"

"Yes," she emphasized, and directed him, impatiently, to try it on.

Side by side, they stared at their reflection in the window. Her own raincoat was more opaque than his, and the color clashed with her hair, horribly, but she beamed at him like she couldn't imagine anything more suitable in appearance, more fitting to the moment. Her fingers rest at his arm, a heavy, assuring weight.

"There," she said. "Now we match."

"Yeah," he echoed, touching her hand, the dip of her fingers, her knuckles, arched and waiting for his hold, "I guess we do."


End file.
